This Site contains the stories of over 650 courageous survivors. Because stories are submitted at a much faster rate than I, and the kind volunteers, can possibly read them, we are momentarily closed for new submissions. If you wish to add your story, please come back in a few weeks or go to aftersilence.org. You may NOT publish, distribute, extract, re-utilise, or reproduce any part of these stories.
Proceed with caution as many of the stories can be highly triggering.

I've read a lot of your stories. It helps me a lot to know I am not alone. I only wish that there weren't so many stories. I can't believe the volume of people that have been sexually abused/raped. It seems like a real epidemic. Anyway, here is my story :

I was best friends with my neighbor's granddaughter. They lived right across the street from my house. I got to know my best friendís grandfather and he was a family friend. What we didn't know at the time was that he was/is a pedophile.

It started when I was five. I don't remember exactly how it started. I was in his house, which wasn't really an odd occurrence. He always had kids over at his house. Anyhow, I was in his living room watching TV. He asked me if I wanted to sit on his lap. Not knowing any better I complied. He held me very close to himself on his lap and stuck his hand down my pants and started fondling me while we watched TV. I even remember what was on TV at the time. I used the TV as a way to escape what he was doing. This went on several times a month, for months. Eventually he wasn't just fondling me; he was inserting his fingers into my vagina.

It went on like this for about a year. Then just fondling wasn't enough for him. He started taking me to a bedroom in his house to perform oral sex on me. After he was done fondling me, he asked me if I would like him to kiss me down there. I didn't really want to, but he would keep asking me until I said yes. Meanwhile his hands would be down my pants and he would get rougher until I said yes. Eventually, I just went along with it every time he asked. Once he got me in his bedroom he told me to take off my pants and underwear. He would take them from me and tell me to lie on the bed. He would pull my butt to the bottom of the bed and place my legs over his shoulders. Then he would lift my butt to his face. I hated it. I remember his teeth on my genitals, his tongue inside of me. It went on like that for a few months.

Eventually he would ask me to "play" with him. When he was done performing oral sex on me, he would ask me to play with his penis. I would put my hand on his penis and rub it.

Over 3-4 years he abused me, the abuse kept getting progressively worse. It eventually led to rape. Once, after I was done ďplayingĒ with him, and he was done performing oral sex on me, he stood me up on a stool so that my waist was at the same height as his. He told me to spread my legs. Then he started rubbing his penis against my genitals. My memory gets pretty fuzzy after that. I became so good at going some place else when he would abuse me that I think I blocked out what happened next. There was another time where I remember his penis entering my vagina (it was excruciating), but again my memory goes blank after that. I could be remembering the same day, but just in pieces, I donít know. I do remember running home after that. It was fall and it was starting to get dark outside. I was almost 9 years old.

I stopped going over to his house after that. I finally figured out that he wouldnít try to do anything to me if I wasnít in his house, but unfortunately I was wrong. The last time he ever sexually abused me, I was in 5th grade. I was 10, I was playing with my friends and we got candy from him. He always kept it in his garage. I was the last one to leave. Some how the car door got open for the backseat and he grabbed me and set me on his lap. He started fondling me and asking me if I remembered what we used to do. I said yes. He asked me why I didnít come over anymore. I said I didnít know. He asked me if I would come over tomorrow to play, I said I donít know. He would not stop molesting me until I said I would come over the next day. I left the garage and vowed that I would not come over the next day and I didnít.

The last time I ever talked to him was when I was 11. He used to set out lawn chairs at the top of his driveway and watch the kids play. My brother and I were outside and I went with him to play with his dogs. He used to let us feed them treats. My brother and I sat down to chat; I figured that since we were outside, Iíd be safe. Eventually, my brother left and I was left there alone with him. He had gone inside to get me a Pepsi and I wanted it so I waited for him to return, during that time my brother went home. When he returned, he gave me the pop and we started talking. He eventually asked if I remembered what we used to do together. He asked me if I would have sex with him. I said no. He kept asking me and I kept saying no. About 30 seconds later my parents called that it was time to eat. I left and did not let him rape me that day. I never talked to him again.

When I was 15 I finally told my parents what he used to do. We went to the police and after a year he finally went to prison. 3 1/2 years later he was already out on parole and has since completed his parole. Iím sure that he has started molesting other kids. I don't know who decided that 3 1/2 years was enough time in prison for a pedophile. The victim serves a life sentence; I think it should be the same for the pedophile.

I started going to a psychologist after I told my parents what happened. I went for a few years and it helped a lot. Last year I got married to a wonderful man, I was 25. I've had a bumpy ride to this point, but have finally found happiness. I finally enjoy sex and have learned that Iím safe with my husband. It took a long time, but I finally donít have flashbacks when Iím making love with my husband. He is the only person that I have made love with and I consider him the person that took my virginity. I think that virginity is not something that can be stolen; it is something that is given. The dreams havenít completely stopped; I still have one about every month. The memories are what I have the hardest time with. I still think about it everyday. Iíve learned to stop blaming myself for what happened, but I still wish it hadnít. I know that it is probably the same for all of you. Typing my story has actually told me how far Iíve come. I used to cry and shake every time I told my story. This is the first time that I havenít done either. Thank you for reading.

by Carrie on 16 Apr 2005

I was sexually abused once when I was 5 years old by my uncle. I pretended I was asleep when he came into my room. He lifted up my night dress and pulled down my underwear and started massaging my vagina with his fingers. He spread my legs apart and pushed his fingers inside me. All the time I pretended I was asleep. I remember thinking that I should kick him, but thinking that my family would be mad at me for hurting him. The next day I overheard my dad say something to my uncle along the lines of "so did you do it?" For whatever reason I convinced myself that my dad knew about it (which I know was irrational now) and figured that if he knew then there was nothing that I could really say, and that it wasn't such a big deal. It loomed over me for several years, but I wasn't really affected by it seriously. Now I am 23, and am afraid because my uncle is about to have his first child - a baby girl.... and I'll never know if he just did it once to me and that was it, or if he'll hurt my new cousin.

by Ambi on 16 Apr 2005

I am 14 about to turn 15. About a year ago, I was living with my mom and her husband, Terry. I usually get off the bus and go over to my friends, I never really felt safe around him. Well, one day I got home, didnít have any homework so I went over to my friend Shay's house. Terry got really mad at me for no reason! He hit me over the head with the hard part of the broom and my mom was right there just watching, not caring. There I was lying on the floor crying my heart out and nobody cared...not even my own mother. Then Terry and I started getting along pretty good, if I didnít tell my mom what was going on. I always had a feeling she knew but I didnít ask, I was afraid that Terry would kill me. He went on coming into my room at night when my mom was asleep, have his way with me and leave. There were so many times I didnít go to bed just so I wouldnít have to go through the enduring pain again. By the time the school year was almost over I had decided to tell my mom. I kept a secret from all the people I loved like my dad, my BEST friend Chelsea and my mom. I finally got the guts to tell my mom after I had a fight with Terry. I got so mad I told him I hated him and told my mom everything, she didnít believe me! Her own daughter! To this day I am living with my dad and my mom and my little sister are STILL living with that thing that they obviously love. My mom and I donít really talk anymore and my dad and I get along fine, he is the only one who believes me. And the only one who loves me!
Just a note to those who are being abused or raped: TELL SOMEONE NOW BEFORE ITíS TO LATE!
Love~ Zoey

I was sexually abused by my grandfather since I was about six years old. I am now fifteen and it has been a year since he has done it to me. I told my counselor once he died. I then found out that he did it to my mom and uncles and aunts too. My mom never told me about this. It made me really mad!!! My sister went through this as long as I did, but she won't talk about it!! I have a counselor and a rape counselor helping me through this right now. Writing poetry is the way that I get my feelings out. It really helps for anyone who needs to get their feelings out. It has helped me alot talking to my counselor but when we talk about stuff that is difficult for me, I blank out, or my mind leaves my body. But for now I am doing ok I think!!!

My story is much like so many others sad, shaming, and life affirming. It was many years ago that I was sexually molested by a boy on the bus at 6 years of age. I am not as tortured by the event itself as by the response from those around me mostly my mother. She accused me of having brought it on myself. In those days women were often used as objects and so it was a deep dark secret making me feel less the victim and more the cause. Little did I know this was going to become a large monster in my life. It seemed that anyone who could would and did. And as always I was the cause, but I didn't know at the time she was suffering from her own demons. Her own abuse was made visible in me. But later her reaction would be my saving grace. One year ago. My beautiful vibrant little girl of 8 was raped repeatedly by her half brother in the 3 weeks that we knew him. I feel the guilt of why didn't I see as any woman does when it touches her child. But thanks in a round about way to my mothers reaction I knew how to be the mom my mom was unable to be, loving, supportive and willing to fight when the battle came. And the pride I gained watching her stand in front of a court and tell her story and get her justice was like I finally got a little of my own. So all you hanging in there and the end seems too far to see, just close your eyes and see the wonder that may be there right in front of you.

This site is offered for support of other survivors, it is not meant to be a substitute for any kind of professional help. I don't have any qualifications or training in therapy, I am by no means a professional. I claim no responsibility for the use of this web site, use of content, or content of any links leading from this site. If you are in a crisis situation I urge you to contact your local rape crisis center or health care professional.